


Winding Down

by bees_stories



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Developing Relationship, Insomnia, M/M, PWP, Sherlock Being Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-14
Updated: 2014-09-14
Packaged: 2018-02-17 08:58:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2304053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bees_stories/pseuds/bees_stories
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the dead of night, John wakes up to find Sherlock watching him. What else could follow but awkward conversation and sex?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Winding Down

***

John woke abruptly, conscious that he was no longer alone. For a few heartbeats, before he could pull his flight or fight reaction under control, he stiffened warily and prepared to make a play for the pistol tucked in his nightstand. When he realised his lizard-brain was getting ahead of his conscious mind he very deliberately sighed and snuffled, as if he had been dreaming all along and the actions within the dreams had influenced his sleeping self. Meanwhile, he listened hard for the whatever it was that had provoked his sudden return to wakefulness and identified the soft, nearly imperceptible sound of breathing coming from the doorway. He knew if he turned over and opened his eyes he'd recognise the shape of the man who had interrupted his slumber.

"Sherlock? What is it? Is there something the matter?"

Sherlock walked into the bedroom. "Your back was towards me," he said, sounding somewhat perplexed. "How did you know it was me?" 

John rolled over, and then he propped himself up on one elbow. "I don't know. I suppose I've come to recognise your distinctive style of towering over me like a Byronic vampire. So if it's not trouble, what are you doing here?"

Sherlock chuckled. "Towering like a Byronic vampire? That's a little florid, isn't it? Have you been dipping into Mrs Hudson's stash of Mills and Boon books again?"

John felt a sharp stab of mortification and he wondered if he would ever live the incident down. "It was just the once. I was bored. And the book was decent. You're evading," he said with a remarkable lack of impatience considering how rapidly exasperated he was beginning to feel. He flipped on the bedside lamp and glanced at the clock. "It's two thirty in the morning. Not exactly past your bedtime, but late all the same. So I reiterate the question. What are you doing, Sherlock?"

"Winding down," Sherlock finally replied. He sounded slightly embarrassed. "Watching you sleep helps me to relax." 

John pulled an expression of bemusement. "I'm not sure if that's romantic or disturbing. But, just for the sake of argument, let's go with romantic." He raised the blankets in invitation and shivered as cool air hit his bare legs. "Then come watch from here. It's cold tonight." 

Sherlock frowned even as he started untying his dressing gown, revealing a pair of pale blue pyjamas that would have been at home in Bertie Wooster's wardrobe. "I'm not cold." 

"So much the better." John smiled seductively. "You can warm me up." He scooted over to make room for Sherlock to join him. 

"Fine." Sherlock got into bed. He shut off the lamp and then settled his head on the pillow John offered him before he pulled the blankets up high enough to cover his shoulders. "Well?" he said expectantly. 

"Well, what?" John looked at Sherlock curiously. 

"Close your eyes," Sherlock said. "How can I watch you sleep, and therefore relax enough to get to sleep myself, if you're looking at me?"

"And I'm revising my opinion to disturbing," John said. "Good night, Sherlock." He leant forward, kissed Sherlock on the nose, and then closed his eyes. 

"I've disappointed you," Sherlock said. 

"What?" On a scale of one to ten, ten being wide awake and one being out cold, John was stuck approximately at four. He'd had a long day and a fairly intensive night helping Sherlock and Molly run forensic experiments, and he really wasn't up to any conversation more complex than mild innuendo. He certainly wasn't prepared to get into anything as convoluted as his and Sherlock's constantly evolving relationship. "No, I'm just … forget it." 

"Oh," Sherlock said flatly. "You were hoping for sex." 

"What? No. That's the last thing I want," John blurted without thinking. All right, he admitted to himself. Not quite true. Once Sherlock had got into bed, he figured a little pre-sleep snuggling might be on the menu. A few kisses and a cuddle, but nothing more energetic. 

A few perilous beats passed in the otherwise silent bedroom as Sherlock's expression went rigid and then he flipped the blankets back. 

John cringed, his entire face contracting into a mass of frown lines as he realised how bald of a rejection that was. He flung his hand out and grabbed Sherlock's shoulder. "Wait. Stop!"

"You do want sex?" Sherlock asked. 

No, John thought. What I want is sleep. That and to get out of this conversation without getting into a stupid row. "Sex would be great. Yeah. But not right now. Sherlock. You want sleep. I need sleep. Let's just sleep, all right? We can have sex in the morning." He smiled and hoped it was a conciliatory smile. The way things were going it probably looked a bit frustrated. He leaned in to offer a rain-check kiss, a light brush of his lips lightly against Sherlock's. But they were slightly too far apart to connect satisfactorily, so John scooted closer and hooked his hand around the back of Sherlock's head and – 

It was amazing how fast his body's mood could change. 

John wasn't sure how he ended up on top of Sherlock. One second he was laying on his hip, groggy and desperate for sleep, and the next he was wide awake and just plain desperate, nipping Sherlock's lips before pushing his tongue in deeper as he ground his rapidly filling erection against Sherlock's belly.

So much for not wanting sex.

"You've changed your mind," Sherlock observed somewhat breathlessly when they parted. 

John shrugged, still tingling from a kiss that seemed like it had electrified every cell in his body. He began to go to work on the buttons of Sherlock's pyjamas. "Yeah, it seems I have." He looked up from the buttons and met Sherlock's eyes. "You mind?"

"No." Sherlock sighed deeply as John nipped lightly at the side of his neck. "Can I watch you sleep afterwards?" 

"If you need to," John replied. He smiled roguishly and then nipped the other side of Sherlock's neck as he pushed the embroidered silk pyjama top off Sherlock's shoulders. "But I'm hoping you won't need to. Not by the time I'm through with you." 

Sherlock pursed his lips speculatively. "Your come on suggests you've been watching porn videos." 

John darted forward to kiss Sherlock's mouth. "Research."

"Did they teach you this?" Sherlock reached down between their bodies and slipped his fingers into the waistband of John's Y-fronts. 

John gasped and ground into Sherlock's palm as he was expertly manipulated. "Maybe – " He drew a ragged breath and tried again. " – not that." 

"Or this?" Sherlock rolled John onto his stomach and then pinned him against the mattress. He peeled John's pants off his hips and pushed them out of his way with a series of neatly efficient motions and then got off the bed just long enough to remove a tube of lubricant from the nightstand and finish stripping off. When he returned to the bed be resumed the manual stimulation, reaching underneath to massage John's cock and balls until John clambered to his knees and spread his legs. "Good, John. Just like that." 

Sherlock kept teasing, drawing his fingers over the dimple above John's arse cheeks and then slowly downward. He sucked his index finger, wetting it, and then pressed inward until it was buried up to the knuckle. John sighed deeply, incapable of doing more as Sherlock teased his prostate. He hadn't expected Sherlock to turn the tables on him, but now that he had, he was more than willing to go along for the ride. 

Or to be ridden. 

Sherlock kept teasing, massaging John's cock and balls with one slicked hand while he kept up the finger play with the other. John writhed, bucking into Sherlock's palm and then rolling his hips to meet the thrusting finger. "Sher – lock!" he growled between gritted teeth. He meant to say more, to urge Sherlock to further action, but John's brain, having shifted so rapidly from dead asleep to sexually overstimulated, wasn't capable of complex sentence structure. "Now! Please!" would have to do.

Sherlock obliged. Without stopping his fondling of John's erection, Sherlock withdrew his finger and inserted his slicked penis. Without missing a beat, he adjusted their positions, pulling John tight against his chest as he tumbled onto his side and began to thrust. 

John clutched at Sherlock's confining arm as he grunted open-mouthed, occasionally remembering to suck deeper breaths when he became light-headed. He felt sweat prick his brow and chest, and knew any chill the room held before had been chased away by his exertions, and Sherlock's. 

Sherlock, whose hand continued to work John's shaft, never missing a stroke as his thrusts abruptly shifted to a staccato tempo. Sherlock who played John's body as deftly as he played his violin, creating sensations that reverberated between them like a complex run of notes drawn from the strings.

Sherlock groaned. It was a low, primal sound that resonated within John's belly. John clasped Sherlock's hand, holding it in place, and felt the thrum of blood in their veins and the pounding of their hearts and it was as if his body had merged with Sherlock's, becoming one vibrant, euphoric entity. 

Sherlock drew a shaking breath, and then he chuckled as he fell back against the mattress carrying John with him. "That was – "

"Yeah," John said, just as breathlessly. "It was." He struggled to get off the bed knowing if he didn't move soon then he wouldn't be able to move at all. Hoping that his legs had the strength to carry him the few short steps down the hallway, John tottered out of the room. 

When he switched on the light and looked in the mirror, there was a stupid grin on his face. His chest was flushed pink, as were his cheeks. John chuckled at his ridiculous appearance and then quickly washed up. He rinsed a second cloth in warm water and carried it back with him to the bedroom.

Sherlock was splayed across the mattress, head on both of the pillows. The blankets still lay on the floor where they'd dumped them. He was already out, riding the flood of endorphins straight to Dreamland.

John found himself relieved. There would be no awkward post-sex conversation to negotiate. No more opportunities to say the wrong thing. At least not until morning. Carefully, so as to not wake his slumbering bedmate, John plied the cloth, washing Sherlock's hands and body clean. He tossed the used cloth into the hamper across the room and then made himself a nest of blankets as he curled onto an empty patch of mattress.

Ironically, he was wide awake. He flipped over onto his other side and studied Sherlock's face. It was slack in sleep and peaceful, giving no indication that within the brain harboured beneath the calm façade a billion neurons were still constantly firing, processing and storing information. 

John reached out and touched Sherlock's cheek, ghosting his fingers over its surface. He felt his lips bow again. Sherlock's face was smooth. He'd shaved before coming upstairs. Had seduction been his plan all along? Or perhaps morning sex had been his goal, the sleepy fumblings that often times turned into laughter-filled tussling for dominance. Had John's unanticipated waking caused Sherlock to formulate a second plan? Or had he anticipated a likely chain of events and prepared for its eventuality? John yawned and supposed it didn't matter. They'd had sex and were sharing a bed, curled close together because in John's bed they had no other option. 

Sherlock's chest rose and fell slowly, hypnotically. John watched and let himself be mesmerised. He let go of his pensive thoughts, chuckled softly at the irony that it was he who was being soothed by Sherlock's slumber and not the other way around, and closed his eyes.

end


End file.
